"GO FAST WELL!" Provencher is shouting at me, and he waves to us from the track. He is in a convertible Honda S2000 pace car wearing cool wrap around sunglasses, hair ruffling in the wind, and why is it that I can't be there instead of here?

I take the first lap slowly, feeling out the curves of the course but by the third lap I am out of second gear pushing into third. I hear Provencher's words: remember to breathe --oxygen in the brain does marvels...

I take a breath. I downshift. I play with the clutch. The smell of gas, the big engine sounds are Intoxicating. They flag us aside for a rest and lunch. I am starving, getting tired, but I am feeling like a race car driver.

On my last session, I can ease into the cockpit without the assist and I start out quicker. It's those same 12 corners but they keep coming back at me faster. I take Provencher's advice: "Raise your eyes and look further down the course and you won't waffle with the steering wheel...then take the lowest possible angle on the corners."

It turns out that he is more than just a sexy Frenchman. Provencher is right -- and I am flying!!! I am the wind!!! Downshifting without clutching up, I am going 85 mph. (OK, so the other group was breaking 115 mph). Nevertheless, I feel injected! My head is heavy with gasoline fumes. This is the ultimate aerobic rush. They flag me off. The day is done. Amusement parks will never look the same.